


Oil Tan

by bloodscout



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, BDSM, Boot Worship, Bootblacking, Clothed Sex, Dominant Otabek Altin, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Leather Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Squirting, Submissive Yuri Plisetsky, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Yuri Plisetsky, Vaginal Fingering, Vibrators, bratty bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodscout/pseuds/bloodscout
Summary: The smell now is intoxicating, and it’s so fuckingsoftunder his hands. His every sense is filled with the leather; its slight sheen, its heady, earthy scent, the way he can almost taste it on his tongue. He wonders if Otabek would object to a spit shine in the future. Otabek shifts his foot, pressing the ball of his foot against Yuri’s crotch, and Yuri feels blood rush south.





	Oil Tan

**Author's Note:**

> yuri has a leather kink ok, fight me  
> probably set about 3 years post canon, so yuri is 19, if that’s important to you.  
> also yuri is trans but I still call his junk a cock because every trans dude I know does that

 

“I think my boots need cleaning.” Otabek announces when they get home from their afternoon ride, propping his feet up on the coffee table in the living room of his small apartment.

 

Yuri raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

 

Otabek nods, smug. “Yep. Definitely need a clean. Very dirty.” He turns to his boyfriend, eyes flashing, but expression otherwise completely composed. “I wonder where I could find someone willing to clean them?”

 

Yuri shoves him playfully. “You could just ask, asshole.” He glared at the other man until Otabek let a small smile slip. “I’ll go get the stuff,” Yuri picks at the t-shirt he is wearing. “And maybe change into something looser.” He leans down to press a kiss to the corner of Otabek’s mouth.

 

Otabek nods his agreement, and waits for Yuri to return with the box of stuff. He wasn’t lying – his boots are actually quite dirty, picking up dust and mud from his frequent motorcycle rides around the city. Yuri is only going to be in Almaty for a few more days, and these boots haven’t been cleaned since Otabek bought them. It just seems sensible to get them polished now before he forgets, caught up in the storm that is his boyfriend.  He knows next to nothing about bootblacking, but Yuri had expressed an interest a few months ago, and Otabek would do anything to have Yuri Plisetsky on his knees for him.

 

Yuri emerges from the bedroom in grey sweatpants and one of Otabek’s old t-shirts, loose on his slight frame, holding a small box filled with leathercare goods. He has tied his fringe up out of his eyes, a messy half ponytail at the back of his head, and the rest of his hair falls down around his shoulders.

 

“Toss me a pillow.” He requests, and when Otabek obliges, he places it at the feet of one of Otabek’s two dining chairs. “Over here,” He indicates to the chair. “This way I’m not going to be bumping up against the coffee table all the damn time.”

 

Otabek is silent as he pads over to the chair, taking in the sight of his boyfriend half-crouched over the furniture. When Otabek sits in the chair, Yuri falls to his knees on the cushion, and the change in his demeanor is immediate. There is a subservient set to his shoulders, and his eyes are drawn down immediately. Otabek lays a hand on Yuri’s head, a silent gesture of approval. It feels almost wrong to break the silence.

 

“Yura,” He says, and Yuri looks up at him. “We’ll use traffic lights, and–”

 

“Not that I’ll need them, it’s just bootblacking.” Yuri snarks.

 

“And,” Otabek continues, unfazed by the interruption. “You can talk all you like.”

 

Yuri gives him a toothy grin. “Like you could stop me.”

 

The corners of Otabek’s mouth turn up, and he cuffs Yuri lightly on the side of the head. “Don’t you have boots you should be cleaning?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Yuri responds sarcastically, if only for the shiver he knows it will send up Otabek’s spine.

 

First, he props Otabek’s feet on his thighs, unlacing his boots. Nimble fingers pull the laces out through the eyelets, and place them in the box. Yuri runs his hands over the boots, testing the softness of the leather, finding any nicks that need to be paid attention. While he does this, he takes Otabek through the small kit he brought with him – the different brushes, the soaps, the polishes. After a thorough appraisal, he puts Otabek’s right foot back on the floor, takes a brush out of the box, and starts to roughly knock the first bits of dirt off Otabek’s boots. Even through the dust, Otabek’s boots smell wonderful, the deep scent of leather permeating through the air. Yuri runs long strokes along the edge of Otabek’s shoes, brushing off bits of dirt that cling to the midsoles. After he is satisfied with his work with the dusting brush, he runs an old cloth along the outsides, then into the tongue, collecting dust along the way. Then, he does the same for the next shoe, starting with rough passes of the brush and then moving on to the cloth. Yuri feels the leather give under his fingers, acquainting himself with the shoes.

 

When he is satisfied with the initial cleaning, Yuri pulls the saddle soap, dauber, and spray bottle from the box.

 

“I can’t use much water, or I’d have to let these dry for two days before I conditioned.” He tells Otabek, and the other man nods along.

 

He coats the softer bristles in the yellowy soap, brushing some onto the leather before misting it with water from the spray bottle. Beads of water cling to the leather, glistening, and Yuri works them into the soap to make a foamy lather. With gentle motions, he covers the boot in the soap, taking care not to get any soap on Otabek’s woolen socks. Yuri feels himself drop into an almost meditative state, focusing entirely on the shoes in front of him. Yuri is usually such a chatty bottom, but here he seems entirely absorbed, only explaining to Otabek the bare basics of what he is doing. He works dirt from between the stitching, under the vamp, cleaning every inch of Otabek’s shoes. He shows reverence to the leather, using only the most gentle and precise of touches. A furrow of concentration appears between his eyebrows, and he hunches over his work so that Otabek can barely see his face anymore. Yuri gives the same attention to the right boot, lathering it up slowly, watching the droplets mix with the soap to form small bubbles. He removes the excess soap and dirt with yet another cloth, making sure the remove every last bit of residue.

 

Next, he opens the leather conditioner, letting himself breath in the woody smell of pine tar that emanates from the tin.

 

“This, I like to do with my hands.” He announces, his pupils already blown.

 

He scoops a small measure of the leather conditioner in his two fingers, and smooths it along the leather. The conditioner warms with his body temperature, binding with the leather, giving it much needed moisture. He strokes the boot slowly, letting his fingers glide along with the conditioner as lubrication. He keeps the coat thin, just enough to breath a bit of life back into the leather. The smell now is intoxicating, and it’s so _fucking_ soft under his hands. His every sense is filled with the leather; its slight sheen, its heady, earthy scent, the way he can almost taste it on his tongue. He wonders if Otabek would object to a spit shine in the future. Otabek shifts his foot, pressing the ball of his foot against Yuri’s crotch, and Yuri feels blood rush south. He shakes his head, trying to ignore the pressure on his cock, as he finishes massaging the conditioner into Otabek’s boots. He wipes the boots and then his hands on another rag, and draws a wax pencil from the box.

 

“How is your stitching so dirty if you’ve only had these for a few months?” He admonishes, a smile playing at his lips.

 

He tries to keep his hand steady as he traces the lacing with his pencil, but Otabek’s foot is still pressing maddeningly on his crotch, providing just the slightest bit of sensation, but not enough to be satisfying. Yuri begins to itch with need, but he cannot rush this. Finally, he pulls his polishing cloth from the box, and rubs circles into the leather, much softer now that it has been conditioned.

 

“You’re not going to use polish?” Otabek asks, as Yuri is rubbing the foxing of the left boot.

 

Yuri scoffs. “Heathen!” He scolds. “These are _oil tan_ ,” he intones, like Otabek is meant to know what that means. “Polish would _ruin_ them.”

 

After a few more swipes with the cloth, Yuri lets his shoulders relax, and packs his supplies back into the box. Otabek, however, does not relax his pressure on Yuri’s crotch.

 

“Don’t stand.” He orders.

 

The movement of his hands draws Yuri’s attention to Otabek’s own crotch, and the straining line of his cock in his jeans. Yuri’s mouth drops open.

 

“Do you want something?” Otabek asks, voice low and rumbling.

 

“Please.” Yuri simply asks, eyes wide.

 

Otabek toys with the button of his jeans. “You’ve been so good, Yura.” He draws the “a” out, letting it roll around in his mouth. The button pops free. “And you’re so pretty on your knees for me.”

 

“Please.” Yuri repeats, more insistent this time.

 

Otabek draws down the zip. He slips his thumbs into the band of his boxers, pulling them down just enough for Yuri to catch a glimpse of dark hair.

 

“Beka!” Yuri groans, frustrated. “Beka, come on!” He turns his head, and nips at Otabek’s thigh through the denim.

 

Otabek rolls his eyes, but pulls his cock free. He is rewarded by Yuri’s tongue darting out to wet his lips. Yuri shifts forward eagerly. Almost instinctually, he keeps his hands behind his back, held by invisible cuffs.

 

“Go ahead.” Otabek says, and Yuri immediately leans forward to suck most of Otabek’s cock into his mouth. Otabek laughs. “Greedy!” He chastises. “Go slowly.”

 

Yuri glares at him, but lifts his head off Otabek’s cock all the same. He runs gentle kisses up the shaft, flicking his tongue out to taste the warm skin. Otabek brushes Yuri’s cheek with his thigh, the denim rough against smooth skin. Yuri runs the flat of his tongue along Otabek’s length, before circling it around the head. He repeats this path a few times, until Otabek’s breathing is noticeably heavier above him. Then, he looks Otabek straight in the eyes and swallows him down. A moan rips its way from Otabek’s throat, and he struggles to catch his breath, but Yuri’s pace is relentless. He bobs his head up and down, drawing Otabek just to the edge of orgasm, before he slows down, denying Otabek release. Yuri begins to lave at Otabek’s slit, lips distended sinfully over the crown of Otabek’s cock. Yuri slips his tongue under Otabek’s foreskin to brush against the sensitive skin underneath, and Otabek almost comes then and there. He throws his head back, sensation causing sparks behind his eyelids. Then, unexpectedly, Yuri plunges down to take all of Otabek’s length down his throat. His throat seizes momentarily, and tears spring to his eyes, but he doesn’t choke. He runs his tongue along the underside as he slowly pulls off. Yuri begins bobbing his head again. His tongue is a constant pressure on the shaft, but at the head, Yuri flicks up, catching at the frenulum. Otabek can feel his orgasm building with Yuri’s ministrations, and when Yuri hollows his cheeks and _sucks_ , Otabek loses it, his moans becoming hoarse and drawn out, before he is spilling down Yuri’s throat in pulses.

 

His ears are still ringing when Yuri leans up so that they’re face to face.

 

“You haven’t even kissed me or anything.” Yuri complains, pouting a little.

 

Otabek catches his chin in his hand, pulling him in. Yuri’s lips are sticky and bitter, but Otabek drinks him in nonetheless. They’ve been separated for too long.

 

“Let’s get you into the bedroom.” Otabek suggests when they part, and drags Yuri to his feet.

 

They stay linked at the mouth as they stumble into Otabek’s bedroom, divesting each other of shirts along the way. Otabek makes short work of his jeans, and is kicking them when Yuri backs into the bed and tumbles onto it. Otabek pulls down Yuri’s sweatpants before joining his boyfriend on the bed.

 

“What do you want?” He asks, a little breathless.

 

Yuri grins, and Otabek has a moment to appreciate the way his flush goes from his cheeks to chest. “I want the Magic Wand,” He says, voice raspy with need. “And your fingers in my cunt.”

 

Otabek reaches over to his bedside table to pull out the lube, and Yuri rolls to the side to retrieve the wand from where they had tossed it last night. When they return to the middle of the bed, Otabek situates himself between Yuri’s legs and slicks his fingers. He slips between Yuri’s folds, spreading lube along his vulva. Yuri’s cock is hard, the head peeking out from under the hood. He allows himself to stroke the silky skin around Yuri’s cock before his fingers dip lower. Otabek relishes the gasp that Yuri lets out when he first breaches his cunt. He starts with two fingers, thrusting shallowly, before Yuri growls “Three, Beka, come on, I can do three.” He is rewarded with a moan when he adds a third finger, and Yuri switches on the vibrator. When Yuri presses the vibe against his cock, Otabek curls his fingers up to brush against Yuri’s g-spot. He can hear the hitch in Yuri’s breath at the dual sensation. Yuri can feel pleasure bloom in his crotch, spreading from the head of the vibrator outwards. Before long, Otabek is setting a punishing pace, pressing at Yuri’s g-spot hard and fast. Yuri moans, the vibrations from the wand intensifying the feeling of Otabek’s fingers. Yuri squeezes his eyes shut, losing himself to feeling. The vibrator is strong and relentless, stimulating his cock right to its root. He feels a tension build in his cunt, and his breaths come short and fast. Otabek shows no sign of fatigue, his fingers driving home on each stroke. Yuri feels like he is just about to fly apart, lost to sensation.

 

“Beka, I’m gonna–” Yuri warns, free hand scrabbling at the covers.

 

“Come on.” Otabek says, and it’s the unabashed want in his voice that sends Yuri over the edge, ejaculate gushing from his cunt and onto the covers. Otabek does not slow his pace, coaxing Yuri through it. His orgasm wracks through him in waves, new sparks of sensation emanating from his cunt. Yuri switches the vibrator off after a while, overwhelmed with sensation.

 

Finally, Otabek removes his fingers, irreverently wiping them on the ruined sheets, and climbs up Yuri’s body so that their sweaty bodies are pressed together. Yuri turns his head, giving Otabek a sloppy kiss. He feels sated, content. They let their breathing slow and eventually sync up.

 

“You know,” Otabek begins, laying his hand on Yuri’s chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath. “I think my skates need polishing too.”

 

Yuri makes a thoroughly undignified noise, and pushes him off the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're interested, things i was thinking of when writing this fic are [huberd's shoe grease](https://www.amazon.com/Huberds-Shoe-Grease/dp/B000MLBCWM) (which i own) and the [magic wand rechargeable](http://www.shevibe.com/magic-wand-rechargeable-cordless-vibrator.aspx) (which i sadly don't)  
> thanks for reading 2000 words of the most self-indulgent porn i have ever written


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